The boy and the tree
by Spatz
Summary: what a boy has to become in order to survive in a world where God can and does abandon... a spot story and my first fic so r/r
1. Remembered Tears

His toes wiggled freely in the tall dry grass. The blades tickling his leg as it brushed his moving form. With pleading eyes and a slight smile he ran playfully to me, begging for my companionship. With a sharp no his smile faded and he turned in attempt to will away my bitterness, and his pain. I examined my hands, cracked, dry, and rough from work. I reached out with them and held his frail shoulder firmly. I knew he accepted my silent apology as I set my axe back into its smooth rehearsed swing. I struggled as it lifted over my head, for I was only seven.  
  
He redirected his energy and trudged up the large limbs, scraping the bottom of his dirt-caked feet. I caught his adventure out of the corner of my eye. Not a worry prevailed, for all my focus was on my swing.  
  
His climb was a short one and he stood upon the lowest limb, his vain bellow provoked my attention. I laughed as I belittled his accomplishment, challenging him to justify his boast. As I did so, he journeyed higher, smirking at me all the way. I turned. Placing the axe at my hip, watching his untarnished hands liberally grasp the strong branches.  
  
He looked down at me from his perch, laughing, hoping I approved. His gaze turned to the sky, his eyes focused on the dove circling among the clouds. He shifted his weight to see the bird as it escaped his view. The wind made the branch dance, and his once stable body was smashed among the branches.  
The axe feel to the ground and I ran abandoning it. My strong arms made weak as I held him in my arms. I let his blood soak through my shirt and waited for him to stop breathing. It must have been about a minute, but it seemed like days. I stared at him, my baby brother, a baby forever, and my brother no more. I let his limp body fall out of my arms. I ran to the rock that claimed his blood, and despite the tears overcrowding my eyes I picked it up and threw it. Threw it far, far away. It would never haunt me again. I ran back to him, and leaned my head on his small, broken body. The tears wouldn't stop falling, they couldn't, God knows I loved. love. him. I did it. It was my fault, my actions, my taunting. So I let the tears fly, staining his soft, dirty shirt, staining my cheeks.  
  
That's the last time I ever cried. 


	2. Numb

He found me huddled over the body, my father that is. And I'll never forget what the first blow felt like. The adrenaline rushed through my body and the pain toughened my face. The stuck spot left throbbing as I ignored it, keeping my eyes fixated on the ground. I stared blankly waiting for him to finish. Not a tear escaped my eyes, there was no use crying. Tears made a man weak, and I was anything but. The pain never seemed to break me, so my father tried harder. I kept that icy gaze forever. I still wear it today. Honestly, I don't think it was the beatings that drove me away. My body was always decorated with cuts and bruises, I hardly noticed. Sometimes he talked to her, mother.  
  
I came home with the freshly chopped wood and tarnished hands. I walked in and saw him staring at the fire carelessly fidgeting with it through his fingers. Mother. The slammed door didn't even redirect his attention. I stood holding the wood and watching. I stared blankly as he threw the remaining pieces into the fire. The fire that he built solely for this purpose, for it was only September and winter wouldn't be chilling us for quite some time.  
  
I ran to my room, remembering her, longing for her. I reached into the drawer for my picture and realized it was gone. It was mine he destroyed. I hadn't noticed when I first ran in, but my room was bare. Nothing remained, where had it gone? Father sat next to the fire, sweating but satisfied. He destroyed it all, fed it to the fire. He was beaming with delight until he saw the blank stare on my face. He wanted tears but he wouldn't get them. I looked to him and with my icy gaze demanded why. "You're mother son. She told me to. I only do as she wishes, you must have made her angry again."  
  
My father was absolutely insane. Fear kept me drawn to that house. I knew mother was dead, but challenging father was not healthy. He talked to her sometimes. Well into the night he'd be arguing with her. Then next day he'd be up making her breakfast. I longed for the forbidden meal. It was always within my reach but so far away. Father guarded it. Only mother could have it. If only mother could hear my stomach roar.  
  
My thoughts dissipated as I slammed that door for the last time. I had nothing to pack, for he had destroyed everything. Courage had prevailed and allowed an escape. 


	3. Say hello to New York for me

"Master Conlon?" I whispered opening his door. "Master Conlon are you in here?"  
  
"Boy? Is that you? Aye, come in lad, come in." I quietly closed the door. "Sit down son."  
  
"No, thanks, but no. I'm on my way Master Conlon."  
  
"On your way are you. Och. quitting this town like you quit school?"  
  
"Listen, I know you said running' away from your problems don't fix 'em, but I ain't trying ta fix 'em. I'm trying ta leave em behind." I looked to him but he had no reply. "Anyway, I just came to give you back your key," I said taking the string off my neck and handing it to him.  
  
"Och, no son. That's yours now. The invitation still stands, for who knows when you'll be coming back to visit me? Surely when you do you'll be needing that key. Besides you're still me favorite student, lad. But och, you know that." I nodded.  
  
"Goodbye Master Conlon." His old drained face and frail limbs couldn't hold out for much longer. The tears behind my eyes begged to surface. I jerked them away and stared blankly at him. I turned and headed for the door, prepared to close it and move on.  
  
"Lad?" I turned to him. "Say hello to New York for me," he winked and a smile replaced my scowl. He always did know me.  
  
The all-encompassing crowd at the train station generated the idea. There were so many people I feared I was lost. Lost. I pondered the thought for a moment. I don't know how I did it without tears, but they believed me.  
  
"My. my. my mother!" I whined, stuttering when possible. The man took hold of my hand and calmed me repeating, there, there. I looked up at him with pleading eyes. "She. she has my, my, ticket," I looked sorrowfully at the ground. There, there. "And, and I'm sure she already got on. I was, I was following her. And I, and I got lost. And now I don't have a mother!" I yelled.  
  
"Oh my child, don't get upset. We will find you're mother. There, there now. There, there," he comforted. I allowed him to take me into his arms. "Will you let me onboard? Because my mother, she's on there. I know she is, and she. she has my ticket. I'm too little to hold my own she says. So." "There, there son. Of course we will let you onboard. Now what is your name son. We can check." Quickly I interrupted as if I hadn't heard him ask. "I know which one we are in. She told me, my mother did. But I'd have to see it to remember." "Alright son, let's go then." If I hadn't been forcing a frown I would have smiled. He took me by the hand and led me down the asiles of the train. We passed by all the occupied cabins until I spied a vacant one.  
  
"That's it!" I told him letting go of his hand and running. He smiled and let me look inside. "This is the one!" I examined the room and saw a small black purse on the table. I panicked and fright restricted me. He stared at the purse and started to walk towards it when I blurted it out. "Mother's purse, oh this is the right cabin. Thank you sir. I'll be alright now," I smiled tensely through my apprehension. He nodded and left me. I was relieved until I came to the realization that I could not stay in this cabin with the owner of the black purse.  
  
She wasn't like I predicted. I gained enough pity from her to earn a place to stay. She was heartbroken by my story and she certainly hoped I would find my mother after we arrived. And of course she would let me stay, for if she had a lost son wouldn't she want a woman to do they same? I said she would, and she agreed.  
  
I sat on the bed and was discomforted. I reached in my pocket and found the pocket-knife. In the midst of my confusion and strong emotions caused by my departure I had forgotten to return it. I flipped it over in my hands, reading the engraving. Conlon. I couldn't return it now, besides he'd probably let me keep it anyway. I put it away before too many memories surfaced.  
  
She came in the room with tea and bread. I must have looked eager for she laughed and said there was plenty. I smiled weakly, and that's when she asked my name. I could feel the aprhension growing and I looked away from her haunting gaze. I swallowed what was left of my mouthful. Then, remembering the knife hidden safely in my pocket I looked at her and smirked. "Conlon." 


	4. Cold hungry and alone?

"Colin dear, get ready. We will be there shortly," she must have misunderstood when I told her my name for she called me Colin the entire trip. It pleased me that she mistook the Conlon for a first name, for I didn't have to make one up nor remember the old one, the one my father scolded out of his own self pity. I went into the adjacent room and took the blanket off the bed. She was busy charming the doorman while I placed the remaining food safely in my freshly stolen blanket. She might wonder where it vanished to, but she would believe any sweet lie that escaped my lips.  
  
I hugged her goodbye and thanked her before running off after my non- existent mother. She wished me luck and I thanked her again. It wasn't until later that I found the strip of paper with the address on it. I wondered if she knew I was lying, or if she just wanted me to visit.  
  
I breathed heavily as the New York City air hit my small frame. My country lungs baffled at the sudden change. The city made me forget her and her daft bread, jam, and hospitality. I walked aimlessly with my blanket slung over my back, my knife safely in my pocket, and my new name foremost in my mind. I was a Conlon now, and I had to make him proud.  
  
The night was chilly as I huddled an iron park bench, shivering under my stolen blanket. I lay awake and stirring, unable to get comfortable for any length of time. I sighed, skeptical of my decision. I was cold, cold and alone.  
  
***  
  
The food stolen from the train had dissipated into stale breadcrumbs, and now even those were devoured. Hunger existed in its highest form and my thoughts were on nothing but food. My roaring stomach begged for cooperation. And despite my pounding head I made a sound decision to take what I needed. I strolled passed a vendor causally knocking down one of his apples by brushing it with my moving figure. Not receiving a glance from the stranger, I proceeded to kick the apple down the dusty street until I saw it safe to bend down and pick it up. My mouth couldn't wait for my tired arms to cleanse the apple. I ate ever morsel. I ate the dirt and grime collected on it from its long haul down the road. I ate the bruises caused by its drop. I ate the long brown stem, and sticky seeds, and upon its finish my mouth begged for more.  
  
My first success did not hold true for my second attempt. I brushed the apple of the cart, like the first time, but when my foot when to kick it I heard a yell. In my frightened frenzy I picked the apple up and placed it on the cart, smiling sheepishly and running away from the angry voice demanding payment for the damage.  
  
That's when I heard him, laughing and mocking me for the very first time. I turned to him with my icy gaze, hoping to scare him off. But my attempt was a failed one and he stood examining me as I did the same to him. His words caught me off guard, I wasn't expecting him to speak.  
  
"Youse gotta be quicker then dat if ya ever wanna succeed."  
  
"What," I questioned, uncertain of to what he was referring.  
  
"You've gots ta be quick," he repeated raising an eyebrow. "Make it so dey don't even know you was there. Agility and speed can make you invisible." I smiled shamefacedly understanding that he had seen me botch the lift. I watched him carefully, studying his moves as he strolled by the apple cart and smoothly took one in his right hand and pocketed it in one swift motion. He then took his free arm and placed in front of the bulge. Turning around to come back to me he popped the apple out of his vest and into his right hand, holding it at his side as he passed the vendor. He smirked as he threw me the apple. I smiled as I caught it, knowing I had made a friend.  
  
***  
  
I didn't see him until a week or so later . "Hey Kelly," I called after him. He turned and snickered when he saw me.  
  
"Hungry again?" he laughed, "Or have you come back fer more lessons from the master?"  
  
"So how ya been," I said ignoring his comments.  
  
"Alright I suppose. Ye working on that speed and agility?"  
  
"I was hoping you could show me again," I challenged him justify his vain boasts.  
  
"Oh yeah." I nodded and he turned to validate his pride and reputation. He again strolled passed the vendor and smoothly reached out for an apple. As he did so his long lanky arms knocked the stack down in turn. The vendor faced the boy and all his anger showed. Kelly slid out from under the falling fruit and ran stumbling back to me. He grabbed my snickering body and I ran with him until we were both out of breath and out of view from the vendor. I smirked at him.  
  
"You're pretty quick and agile there Jacky."  
  
"A guy messes up once and he's got all of New York tearing him apart."  
  
"Hey youse messed up half the times I've seen you in action Master."  
  
"Yeah, Yeah. You've messed up EVERY time I've seen you in action so I don't wanna hear it."  
  
"You're right, I'd love to be more like Mr. Jack be nimble, Jack be quick," my sarcastic tone making him laugh at his clumsy fall.  
  
He laughed and slapped me on the back saying, "I'll see ya around Conlon."  
AN: Thank you Everyone for reviewing! :P Thanks MD for keeping me writing! Hehehe. Oh yes and keep reviewing I love it! If any of this is confusing let me know and I will clarify. 


	5. Solid Roof

A/N: Hey thanks for being so patient. It's not much but it's something until I finish the next portion of the story. Thanks to all of my reviewers! And Morning Dew for keeping me on top of things. Haha. Any suggestions or ideas let me know.  
  
I kept my living arrangements strictly to myself. Pride was foremost in my mind, and I placed myself far from embarrassment whenever feasible. The whole apple fiasco was an exception. I guess Jack was a natural at catching me in my weak moments.  
  
Choosing to sleep in central park that night was not in any way a scrupulous decision. In fact it was rather impulsive. I lay down underneath my train blanket, and hours later, the sunrise above my head was not the factor of my waking. But indeed it was the irksome feeling of a rather worn boot scraping the side of my tired cheeks.  
  
"Rough night kid?" he asked me as I shot up with shame.  
  
"I guess." I walked with him in silence, neither of us brave enough to speak. I walked unaware of my own feet moving, thinking of possible explanations to save myself embarrassment.  
  
" So ya going home now?" He asked. He didn't know! Now I thought of how simple it would be to blurt out a lie, any lie and he'd believe it. Just like that woman on the train.  
  
But I didn't.  
  
He looked at me again. "Uhh, if you ever need a place ta stay. there is always the lodging house, or the refuge. I stay there when I can afford it."  
  
"It costs money to stay in the refuge?"  
  
"What? No the lodging house. I said I stay there when I can afford it."  
  
"But you said-"  
  
"Never mind what you heard. This city air is clogging your ears," he interrupted. His manner comforted me, now I knew he wouldn't mock my situation. I told him maybe he would see me at this lodging house of his. He said he would be happy to have me and I would fit in since some days I helped him sell anyway. He told me that what I didn't know I'd pick up relatively soon.  
  
Two nights later I found myself standing in front of the building that held my future. I figured I'd wait two days just to stir up a bit of mystery for Jack. I didn't want to look desperate and dependant, but I also didn't want to disregard the offer entirely. So I spent another night in the open city, and I didn't even mind the rough ground. I didn't even feel the wind from the hollow, chilly night.  
  
I allowed myself to enter the building and introduce myself to the man sitting behind the desk. He looked eager to see a new face. Perhaps Jack had informed him of my coming. Whatever the reason, he was rather welcoming, scattering my uneasiness. The man called for Jack and I waited at the bottom of the staircase. He smiled when he saw me and hurried me upstairs. I was greeted by a flood of introductions, which were hardly heard over the general clamor of the chaotic room. My eyes watered form the mixture of dust and smoke that filled the room. Looking around I noticed that I had to be the youngest one there, obviously taking Jack's place. There were probably a few more closer to Jack's age then mine, but I don't remember who was there that night and who came later, there were too many names in the first few seconds of my stay.  
  
The morning wasn't horrible. I woke a few moments before the first rays of sun were able to glisten on the ground. Before the rowdiness erupted and before the washroom became over crowded. I was ready when the soft-spoken man from the night before used a strong voice to wake the boys. I laughed as Jack slept through the spectacle and was given trouble by the old man.  
  
And Jack was right, what I didn't know, I picked up.  
  
"Well it's only a penny-I paid you five cents."  
  
I reached into my pocket and pulled out an empty hand.  
  
"I don't have any change sir-But if you really want you can have five papers."  
  
"What would I do with five papers?"  
  
"The same as you would do with one I suppose."  
  
"Oh keep your papers and keep the change." I smiled as I pocketed the nickel in my back pocket with the rest of my earnings. It wasn't lying. It was improving the truth. Okay maybe it was lying.  
  
The rest of the days and nights spent at the lodging house blur together in a series of poker games, smokes, chatter, fights, and adventures. I couldn't recall one particular incident, just all of them together and the general feeling of closeness and sense of community.  
A/N: Btw Jack's refuge remark is indeed a sarcastic one! Some people thought that I was stupid and thought that little children liked to go there. Cough ABBY! 


	6. Jack be nimble

A/N Thanks for the Great reviews and OMG! Okay so sorry this took so long. I hit a slump as to how to develop the relationship without dragging it on, (which is what I feel I have done with this chapter, drag it on that is. But it fits the movie historically so blah I don't know.) Okay ahh, I think I've got it now. Perhaps.  
  
A few months later, I can't recall how many, selling was sluggish. The papers that I did sell were mainly off of cheap shots created by pure improvised genius, which occurred so rarely, I hardly broke even. It wasn't as though I hadn't felt it before, but one never gets accustomed to hunger. The pain never numbs, and the thought never ceases. Jack was worse. He scarcely had the energy to stand, let alone parade around New York all day yelling persuasively the headlines that he had to think off the top of his head.  
  
His hunger was apparent, we all felt it within ourselves but somehow we could all tell that Jack was worse, at least more affected. It wasn't frowned upon when he turned to theft, it wasn't even discussed, it was survival. I looked at his frail limbs, defeated by the malnourishment that ailed him.  
  
It wasn't too long after the headlines started sinking that Jack found dinner available at every street vendor. He brought home his leftovers, which were plentiful for her took a superfluous amount for one person, for the weaker ones, and then he brought some for me. He was intelligent and quick, and he never got caught in his heroic yet dishonest act. Not until the day he asked for my aid.  
  
His artful skill for stealing, which he acquired by means of which I am unsure, sunk in succession each time I witnessed it. I didn't think it was the same Jack Kelly that brought home the abundance of bread and fruit. It couldn't have been, for even I wouldn't have botched the job that badly. His gracefulness was not an element of which one would hear him bragging. For I believe it was his weak point, and at this particular moment, his downfall. His clumsy fingers were caught in the act of theft and brought to justice by the police. Justice. My attention lingered on the word. They brought a starving boy to justice, and of course they left him starving. I recall the struggle he produced when being taken away in their arms. I remember the look of embarrassment, the look of failure on his face when the suppressed his revolt. I remember the pain in his eyes, the pain of losing once again, the pain of another bum card being dealt, the pain of being defeated.  
  
So there goes Mr. Jack be nimble Jack be quick, I kicked the dust from the street with force and anger. A fallen hero, a defeated bum. It wasn't until later that I heard he was taking to the refuge, where he built up his reputation and ultimately his legend. His spirit wasn't broken. They just provoked a new anger in him, a new reason to fight. 


	7. Jack be best

A/N: short but it's a transition from Manhattan to Brooklyn. Well kinda. You'll see. Keep those reviews comin'! We didn't see Jack for a while, but we heard about him. It was then that his true leadership qualities began to appear. I wasn't the only one who noticed.  
  
"Kelly's making quite a name for himself," Ships said to me one day. I nodded. "I'm thinking about letting him take over when I leave," I directed my glance from the ground to his cold brown eyes. He broke the gaze and sat down.  
  
"But-"  
  
"But nothing Conlon. He's a natural."  
  
"You always said we would both be leaders. Ever since I came here you have promised me this. You can't just take my half and give it all to him. It's not fair Ships!" I wouldn't cry, life's injustices weren't worth crying over.  
  
"Well Conlon, let me tell you something. Life ain't fair. Not everything people say are going to happen really will. Hell you can't trust one person in this city. I'll tell you something else Conlon, Jack is getting this because he deserves it. He is making a name for himself, people are talking, people that will be willing to look up to him, and not ignore him"  
  
"He's not even selling anymore. Hell he hasn't sold in weeks, months even. I've been pushing 800 a week at least, and I'm only getting better."  
  
"It's not about the selling kid. He is someone now, his name is known. People want to meet and talk to Jack Kelly. He's fighting for himself. He's tough, and he has a reputation now. Who are you? You're shit Conlon. No one in this city knows you who don't have to. You don't stir talk. You don't even try to. You're not half the man Jack is. You're nothing, and you've always been nothing. Nothing but a tiny little spot taking up space. A little spot no one notices, a menace, a burden."  
  
"Oh yea? Well, I'll make a spot important," I spat. I wouldn't insult him back for he didn't deserve it. I wouldn't lose my temper. I'd prove him wrong. I'd do just what I said I would. 


	8. J

A/N: Finally! An update. Sorry about that kids I lost a lot of what I had written when we reprogrammed the computer, and I lacked the motivation to rewrite them in hopes that I would find them. So here it is, one of the re- written chapters. Sigh. Oh well. Read on, and enjoy, and don't forget to review!  
  
It was from then on that I went by the name Spot. I'm not entirely sure if it was out of spite, out of hatred or just the raw desire to prove him wrong, to take something worthless and make it great. Maybe it was the anticipation that hearing people say things along the lines of 'Don't mess with Spot,' and 'Spot makes us a little nervous,' was somewhat amusing, let alone ironic. Although I'm not entirely sure what ironic means, but it seems as though it fit. I'm straying from the point.  
  
I packed my stuff and left Manhattan, way before Jack busted himself out of the refuge. When he did get out I bet he was expecting me to be there, waiting. But I got tired of waiting. I got tired of being pushed around. I wasn't sure where I was headed. I just took off.  
  
I meandered around for a while, sleeping on benches, and porches, waking before the inhabitants in order to insure my safety, and my pride. I took meals when tempted. And it was on one of these lifts that I first acquired the talent for pick-pocketed. Although I was not slick with the larger thefts, I came to realize that I had small hands and long fingers, and small, unnoticeable movements allowed me to successfully get what I needed. Well that, and my incredible charm. With mild distractions and my skillful art in conjunction I was able to pull in about a buck a day on average, sometimes more sometimes not as much. Which, more or less, kept me happy, well not happy, but not hungry either.  
  
I'm not sure if I first noticed him or he me, but it doesn't really matter. I was headed toward the bridge. I had bought some papers to sell but didn't want to do so in Manhattan, not with ships around. It was the same morning that I had run from one of the neighboring boroughs after being caught in the act of my new skill. I walked halfway across the bridge, and then realized that I hadn't even begun hawking the headlines, hadn't even been trying. I leaned against the side of the bridge, just thinking. And now that I think about it I guess he noticed me first, because it was at that moment when I was thinking with my papes in hand that I felt a slight movement in my pocket. I grabbed the hand without thought and turned the culprit to face me. He didn't even bother to distract me while he worked. Amateur.  
  
He looked scared, I'm not sure whether it was because I caught him or because I was intimidating, I prefer to claim the latter. It was then that I realized, despite my size, I could be intimidating. If I wanted to, I could. I put on my game face, and interrogating the kid.  
  
I gave him an icy stare, you know for fun, and realized that it made him squirm. I started messing around with him a little, experimenting for the future. This kid is responsible for the Spot Conlon many see today. I wanted to look angry, so I taught myself to feel angry. I let every memory surface, my brother, my father, Jack, Ships. And believe it or not, after all of that, I did feel angry. I scoffed at him and yelled at him and pressed him for information. Said information proved to be of much help, and quite possibly accountable for my current position. Well no. My current position is attributed to myself, and myself alone.  
  
So this kid tells me that he's from Brooklyn. He had chosen my pocket to pick because he was a newsie himself and he knew that he, as well as most others, kept change for their customers, as well as their earnings, in their pants' pockets for easy access. He told me that he sells in Brooklyn, but he needed some extra cash for some sort of debt. He told me that he lived with some other kids that also sold on most days, though it was not a lodging house, but rather a vacant warehouse with scattered mattresses and beds. He told me I could sleep there if I wanted to. I think he told me that out of fear, maybe he felt obliged to offer me something after trying to steal from me, I don't really know, but the kid he offered. Lastly he told me his name was J. 


	9. 9

A/N: Sorry about the slow updating, I was in Ireland for a week and just got back. I am going away again tonight, so I will try to update when I get back from that trip. Okay here is the next chapter.  
  
Naturally I didn't march into Brooklyn and take the territory all at once, I hadn't even planned on becoming leader when I arrived. For at that time my self-esteem was shot by the short comings of my life. Because of my post being taken in Manhattan, when I arrived I didn't think I was fit to lead. And at that time, I honestly don't think I was.  
  
J became Junior, well to me first and then to most, because of his attachment to me. I started calling him it just as a pet name kind of, or maybe more like in a father-like way, because of my protection of him. The name was fitting for he was in fact my junior, he mimicked most things I did, which is why I had to be careful when fencing with danger, and naturally he looked up to me.  
  
It was with Junior that I realized my leadership ability. How he looked up to me, how I could guide him, how I persuading and looked out for him all at once. It was through him that I developed my skills. He tested my patience and my strength, emotionally that is for no one could test my physical strength, but most importantly he allowed me to walk the fine line between parent and friend, falling close to the occupation of older brother. A feared older brother, and with time, this is what I would become to a group of boys that had lacked trust in figures of authority, a group that never had a father to love, never had someone watching their backs, essentially this is what I would become to all of Brooklyn. Not to undermine the previous leaders of Brooklyn, but an empire grows over time, and it wasn't until my reign that all the kinks were worked out, that Brooklyn was finally united, that everyone followed me, if not out of brother-ship, then out of fear.  
  
When I arrived in Brooklyn it was the Great Schism of 1378 all over again. Upon my arrival at the warehouse with scattered beds I was greeted by a great number of kids, and then pulled into secretive corners for discussion, all of which eventually led to me making a decision. Two minutes in the door and they anted to know with whom my loyalties laid. I took no part in further discussions and told them that I was to take no part in the matter and pretty soon people left me alone. So in comparison to the Great Schism, there were two leaders both claiming Brooklyn as their territory. Which is fine, usually in such a case the two leaders fight, one loses and off he goes. Or the majority of the brooklynities stay loyal to one leader and chase the other away. But both were elected as leader, and both had cliam to the territory. Brooklyn was divided, and the agreement was that Brooklyn would split, one would remain Brooklyn and the other Red Bank. But neither leader agreed to take Red Bank, both insisted that they ought to be the ones to keep the territory.  
  
Throughout the year there was constant fighting. I never got involved for I never agreed with either leader. And for that matter Junior never got involved either. The warehouse was split. On the left lay Cork's men and on the right lay Jeb's. In that respect it was like Avignon and Rome. Like I said Junior and I stayed clear away from the fighting and taking sides and what have you, it was then that I realized people started to follow me.  
  
After a few months of mine staying neutral, people saw it more sensible to stay healthy than battered, and they withdrew from the constant battles. Soon people started asking me for advice, nothing really big or exciting, but I realized what I was becoming to them, and I realized that the brothership I shared with Junior could be developed with each of these boys as well. As I mentioned before my relationship with Junior tested me in many of the same ways that my boys were to test me. It was through him that I learned when to hold my tongue, and when to use my fist. I realized there was a balance needed in a person to watch out for another. This balance grew each time a new boy dropped from the Cork-Jeb conflict and joined the neutral state with me. It was good that I didn't take over Brooklyn all at once. I would have been overwhelmed. The slow increase in my followers was exhausting as it was, if I had tried to conquer Brooklyn in one night I would have surely failed.  
  
Soon I had most of the Brooklyn group claiming me as their leader. I don't know whether it was because they believed me to be qualified, or if they got used to following me, or if they just got sick of fighting for Cork or Jeb, but whatever the reason I had their trust. And once most loyalties lay with me Cork and Jeb lost sight of what they were fighting over. Throughout all their battles and planning they didn't see the new group growing, they didn't see the new leader emerging. It was then that I claimed Brooklyn my own, at Cork and Jeb's weakest moment, at their revelation that neither of them won, that they both in fact lost by fault of their own. It was then that we kicked the two trouble-makers from Brooklyn by force, and it was then that I felt at home, among my brothers. 


End file.
